Facing the night
by SomecallmeMichelle
Summary: Just another night in Harran for Kyle Crane. T for swearing, and violence


"Poor Bastard, didn't stand a chance." - Kyle Crane didn't know who he was talking to, or who he was talking about, but he allowed himself a moment of rest, as well as contemplative silence as he stared at the brutally assaulted body that lay below him. With the Outbreak on the rise and the downfall in the city of Harran, a place where he had been dropped with a mission, he could, but hope that his tracks were covered as he climbed his way into the relative safety of high roofs.

There he had found the body, brutally mauled, likely burgled. Crane stood for what seemed like hours, but were likely just 20 seconds, exhausted. He had been running and climbing for hours, avoiding the infected, dodging the scavenger's who carried guns that could make mince meat out of him, and long blades that could cleave and slice his ass, for the entire day. And now the sun threatened to go down and he wouldn't be safe from the infected. He needed to find a safe place. And fast.

He methodically checked his gun, wincing as he saw the bite mark that had bitten through his glove. He'd need more Antizin to suppress the urges soon. He didn't want to turn into an infected, did he? A bitter laughter came from the back of his throat, though he didn't find the situation funny. He looked at his arm, with the needle marks, and then he rolled the dirtied up sleeves back to their places. No he didn't. Proper medical treatment awaited him home, if he sure as fuck made it back home, right now it didn't seem likely. He pulled his sleeves again, trying to place them so they covered his whole arm. It was an extra protection against the elements, meek as it may be.

It wasn't exactly cold, per sae, and he felt hot and drenched in sweat, but he knew, as an agent of the Gre, that he had to have a better sense than to stand around and do nothing, letting the relief wash off his back. A body was beneath his feet, and for all he knew the sons of bitches who had done the job to the body were still nearby. Crane wouldn't dare bow down to analyse the body and see how fresh it was, anything he needed to know was visible from an uprising position, it was beyond hope, and he had few supplies given to him as it were.

He finally moved one, his pistol, which he carried in his belt, with the safety on, with the full clip, if need arose it would take him only seconds to take the safety of the gun off and shoot the infected. Kyle didn't like to shoot them, the poor souls doomed to hell and back, but it had been basic survival instincts drilled into him back in Chicago. It's kill or be Killed in this world, and he wasn't ready to risk it all for a no good, half infected slob.

Crane gained impulse and tried not to think of the distance he had glanced at from the edge a couple minutes ago while climbing, the building he was jumping to was below him, that wasn't the problem, but it was also relatively far. If he gained enough distance he would be able to do it.

Trying not to think of what would happen if he fell midway and bent his ankle or broke a leg, he jumped. For brief moments he was in the air, until he remembered his training and tried rolling sideways, spreading the force of the impact through his whole body instead of focusing it all his legs, possibly causing cracks.

"Son of a…" - It had still hurt, despite that. - This was why he prefered to jump into fabric or climb directly instead of jumping into the building's flat roofs, it was just preferable to him. And it didn't hurt as much. But he was now lower, low enough that if it were necessary he could aim at the infected that were wandering around and pop the clips in their heads. He could also go down from there, and they might try to climb from down, but a quick shot would assure that they wouldn't. He'd prefer not to waste ammo though, the sound of his rolling had made some of them already turn their heads towards the building, and he was sure the gunfire would attract the attention of every Infected in the area.

It had happened before.

He glanced again at the area that had been bitten, right in the glove. Supposedly, the glove, thick as the ones worn by motorcyclists, would have protected him, but there was lots they didn't know, lots that the GRE hadn't planned.

 _This whole situation stinks to high heavens._ \- Crane thought. Though he wasn't thinking of the heavens of a particular God and it was just an expression. He had been standing in a military crouch, not entirely up, so he couldn't be spotted. Infected, turns out, had excellent night vision. He now lifted himself up and looked around briefly, before resuming his military crouch.

The whole situation was a tactical nightmare, Crane was tired, both physically and mentally, strained, in an unfamiliar territory. - Though the heavy load of sleep in his mind he couldn't recall many of the maps he had memorized of Harran. - He couldn't sleep, and the allies he had gathered weren't too keen on him.

He at least had the high ground, but he knew that at night his enemies turned more brutal, he could already feel his body turn more sluggish, and only the fact that he had had military training. - And there were often brutal training exercises similar to this one, kept him even slightly awake. Still it was not ideal.

A noise to his right, in the back alerted Crane. Crane cursed, all those thoughts about sleep and he hadn't been scouring the perimeter, not that there was much he could do. The crouch position made him slow, but it helped him keep awake.

There were plenty of noises, the infected barely watched their steps as they walked, this noise though, this noise was different, it moved with purpose, though why he or she had choosen to walk at night, when it was more dangerous, Crane did not know.

He got on his belly and he crawled up to the edge, even in the low lights of the night, and the quarantine he could recognise one of Rai's men.

"Shit, the moron's going to get himself caught" - He murmured to himself.- He pushed himself back. He had a beef with them, but they were often better armed than him, and he only had an american 9mm.

Then, they were caught, he heard the piercing screams as they were bitten and then silence, as whomever they were drifting in and out of consciousness. Somehow Crane had the feeling they wouldn't get out of that state of infectiousness.

Crane knew one thing however, he had to move one thing however, he had to brace the dark and move out of there, if Rai's boys were hanging around there, he'd best be moving as far away as possible.

A single fuck, before he faced the drop where the infected were, a hand on his gun, he decided that he'd release the safety after dropping himself down, lest he waste a shot, and a gulp, probably of fear. And Crane was off, facing the darkness.


End file.
